


Touch Me, Cure Me

by RichmanBachard



Category: Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Analingus, Angst, Body Worship, Cunnilingus, F/F, Lust, Muscles, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, Vaginal Fingering, What-If, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichmanBachard/pseuds/RichmanBachard
Summary: In a what-if, before their official meeting, Tifa hears tale of a flower girl who can tend to her every need. If Cloud won’t do it, she’ll find someone who will. Commission.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Tifa Lockhart
Comments: 1
Kudos: 66





	Touch Me, Cure Me

Whenever he would linger upon her, with those bright, bold, colorful eyes, something burned deeply inside her. Brightly and molten hot. Cloud was... different from the other boys. Aloof yet wanting, calm yet so easily flustered. A winning combination. He was a man with something to prove. She had always liked him, but now... now where there once was longing and infatuation, there now also lay concern and dissatisfaction. He was a changed man, it seemed. Still aloof, still dumb, still trying so hard to be something tougher—a chip on his shoulder with serious eyes and demure responses. Though his gaze harbored a kind heart and aspiration, he preferred himself as closed off as possible.

For now? Forever? Tifa was unable to say. She would remain persistent, careful; her feelings would remain but when left to her own devices the woman found herself weak and wanting. Years of longing and lust and pressure. The thought of him and what he might do for her, _to_ her, was a series of illustrious fantasies—one which coated her mind as much as it did her nimble fingers, working the volcanic ache of her folds with vigor. Hungry hands running along the supple curves of her form; paying ample attention to her breasts and hardened abdomen. Tifa looked good, better than good, though she never allowed that confidence to shower her candor with an obnoxious pride. She was a humbler sort. A flower in her own right, weathered by the tides of loss and isolation.

What she wanted in secret was someone to adore her. To pay respect to the body she had worked so thoroughly to achieve. Someone to hold her close, to ensure that she felt valued. She wished for it to be Cloud, enveloped by his warmth. Many a night was spent with him at the forefront of her mind, in that respect—on occasion, others—but mostly him. For as aloof and idiotic as he seemed, Tifa was in love with him. In truth she always had been...

Even with his apparent... differences now, that love remained. And soon twisted into a spiral of frustrated yearning and a lust she grew to relish. Whatever it took to put her mind at ease. 

Yet, sadly, her own, personal enjoyment of her body proved to not be enough, before long. Tifa desired more, peppering her thoughts with the idea of making good on someone seeing to her needs instead. Tending the bar, attending Avalanche meetings, even while she slept—her dreams were laced with lurid, sweet nothings. A promise. A temptation. 

Still he refused to act, hardly fathoming a welcoming enough embrace. His return was still fresh in their minds, but... Tifa’s impatience grew. And in the realm of impatience festered desperation, no matter how reckless.

She was going to do it. One night, she’d find herself a willing hunk kind enough to do just as she requested. Payment or no, it was her desire. It was shameful, she knew. A moment of weakness if there ever was one.

But Tifa had needs. Needs neither she nor Cloud would act upon. Not yet.

—

Tifa soon heard tale of a person befitting her desire. Bar patron chatter was never much to focus on, but the conversation one night remained laced with the promising word-of-mouth that was the lady in red.

 _Lady in red..._ Tifa curiously mused. What a title.

Quelling her nerves one night the fighter would venture forth deep into the slums to land her prize, having set aside an appropriate amount of gil for just this moment. The excitement in her nerves, the hitch in her breath. She could hardly wait.

The soft, distant sounds of flesh clapping against flesh had soon prickled her ears. When her head rounded the corner with a curious look, her eyes drank in the sight of a woman—taken from behind by a tentative client. The woman had pressed a desperate hand to her mouth to dispel the moans which fell from her needy maw.

Was it... her? Tifa couldn't say for sure, but, it seemed her best bet. The sight of their back-alley lovemaking one that would burn into her brain for quite some time. Witnessing as the lady in red pushed back against the cock that worked her like a piston.

Tifa wasn’t desperate enough for sloppy seconds—not yet at any rate—so she was forced to flee, saving her bounty for another night. She held deeply on to the sights for later, though, as she would tend to her arousal, before bed. Imagining that she was in her place, with Cloud pressed up against her, ensuring that the world around them was but a fading memory. Tifa’s eyes fell shut to the lurid thoughts, falling into a deep slumber. She had neither the courage to muster, nor the timing to act on her wants, but... she would.

In time.

—

Aerith brushed several strands of hair behind her ear, holding the crest of flowers close to her body. She’d made a few pieces of gil tonight but... it was never enough. She could always do with more. More clients, more gil.

She sorely missed her cute little cart.

Soon enough the flower girl knew _that_ sort of client would saunter their way over to her, ready and willing to act filthy in a lowly sector alley. Aerith wore a faint smile at the thought of it, simultaneously flattered and somewhat disgusted, but... it made money. She needed her fill. Just of compensation, not... the carnal aspects. She wished to deny that part, most nights.

Yet when a woman waded toward her, buxom and buff in equal measure, clad in gear befitting a notable fighter, the lady in red was thrown for a loop. Though the sheepish appeal of her smile cut through that demeanor. Aerith met the woman with a smile of her own. “Oh, hi!” She presented the basket full of flowers. “Would you... like one?” She looked side to side, the life on the street around them having died down considerably.

Tifa sputtered, her eyes meeting the colorful collection on display. “Oh...! Um, I, well - erm, t-they look... lovely.”

Aerith’s head cocked to the side. Soon, an almost goofy sort of grin came upon her lips. “You’re nervous. Is... everything okay?”

Tifa considered a cowardly act, entertaining the thought of cutting and running yet again—but she soon snapped to, giving a confirming nod. “Mhm! Yes!” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry, it’s just been... a long day, and I’m in need of- um- well... you know-“

Aerith’s eyes narrowed into a playful squint, drinking in the wealth of nervousness on display. She witnessed it all over Tifa’s face and her perfect little features. The flush of her cheeks, the hunger in her eyes. Aerith did not step back, she did not recoil. Instead, the flower girl shifted gears, stepping forward as a growing sensuality came over her. “You’re different from my usual clientele.” She giggled to herself, lightly; a sound that left the fighter squirming, though she never let it show. 

Tifa winced. “Is that... a dealbreaker?”

Aerith’s head shook side to side. “No, no... I like it!” Her gaze had long since traced the supple yet strong outline of Tifa’s figure; a woman made just as much of hard muscle as she was supple curves: a beautiful weaving of contrast, just the way the flower girl liked it. Still, business before pleasure. “You have the necessary gil, right?” 

Tifa, desperate to maintain an air of confidence, took it in stride. “Of course. I’m not sure... how much but it should be enough?”

Aerith hummed, tapping a suggestive finger against her chin. “Should beee.. though you’re in luck. You’re nice, you’re pretty, and you smell halfway decent—so, payment can come after the fun.”

Again, the notable shade of crimson refused to leave Tifa’s side as she sputtered. “O-Oh, that’s... you’re too kind, but I-“ 

She was cut off, as Aerith took the fighter by the hand, gripping the glove of her palm tightly. Her voice remained its usual, chipper tone, but now... Tifa could feel the difference. She was led away briskly, fleeing to a place made for just the two of them. 

A back-alley in the cramped narrows of Sector slums wasn’t quite befitting the idyllic fantasy Tifa had been brewing in her mind, but there was a world of difference between how things should go and how things actually went.

She rolled with the punches, same as always.

—

Aerith let slip the softest of giggles, a sound that seemed to slice through the tension between them a molten-hot knife through butter. “Look at those muscles,” she teased, “I’m a fan.”

Tifa blushed, having unconsciously flexed her wealth of muscle for just a few seconds. “You... you are?”

She nodded emphatically, the flower girl’s eyes beginning to glaze over with lust. 

A nervous chuckle fell from the fighter, then, something to push back against the tension in her muscles. “You’re... not what I was expecting.” Her eyes briefly widened. “N-Not that I’m complaining, but-“

Aerith hummed, leaning close as she captured her line of sight. “And what were you expecting?”

Tifa’s lips parted to speak, yet she relented—struggling to find an effective enough answer. There was none. She pushed it from her mind, waving a dismissive hand. “J-Just my nerves talking, that’s all.” She smiled. “Sorry.”

Aerith stared deeply into her eyes, a look of emerald losing itself in a sea of crimson. The flower girl neared, brushing a careful hand across Tifa’s cheek. “Don’t apologize. Just tell me what you’d like, sweetie.”

The fighter swallowed hard. “...to be loved,’ she blurted aloud, feeling the regret seep into her form immediately. “Cared for, worshipped- not- not worshipped, b-but-“ Tifa winced. “T-That’s not, I- I mean-“

Aerith did not giggle, nor had she recoiled. Again, there was a look of resolution filling her eyes now, sharp yet suggestive. “Not being cared for at home like you deserve, hmm?” Her thumb brushed against her cheek all the more. “I can understand that... Not wanting to wait. Wanting what you feel you deserve.”

“Well, it’s not like he doesn’t, it’s just-“

Aerith’s head cocked slightly. “Just, what?” The lady in red looked as though she was ready to pounce.

Tifa, though, had recoiled slightly. “W-Well, it isn’t like....mmnph!-“

With her other hand bracing the fighter’s face gently, Aerith pulled Tifa close, bridging the gap between them as their lips finally met. The flower girl danced along the line between careful and careless, gentle and forceful, maintaining control over her client. Conversely, Tifa... lost herself, in that moment, melting into the kiss as Aerith’s tongue slipped inside her mouth for theirs to dance together. The fighter wished to weep, to sob from the outpouring of passion. 

There was nothing she desired more. 

Tifa’s body reflexively tightened, then slowly began to soften as the flower girl’s hands moved—a wordless conversation playing out between the two of them, one of consent; of submission. Aerith’s smiled into the kiss as her hands dug into the soft, supple flesh of Tifa’s form. The brawler tried to stifle the series of whimpers that fell from her, but it proved all for naught. 

Aerith’s grip grew firmer, increasing with a possessive edge as she fondled the brawler; making her squirm, reducing her to a puddle of want. 

When their kiss broke for need of air, Aerith kept her forehead pressed against her clients, still kneading Tifa’s ample bosom through the constraint of her top. “I like these,” she said simply.

Tifa giggled, honestly and true. Her voice was breathless. “Keep liking them... just don’t stop.”

The flower girl shook her head, overtaken by the allure of having something to fondle. The luck she sometimes held... “The things I do for gil...” Tifa’s gasp was soft as Aerith pressed her against the alley’s wall, managing to pull at the fighter’s top roughly, allowing her ample breasts to spill out from the sports bra which bound them. Still, Tifa could hardly wipe the deep shade of crimson from her cheeks as Aerith lowered and lowered still; her touch just as desperate and possessive as before. She dug into Tifa’s bosom; kneading the tender flesh, peppering them with a series of soft kisses, rolling her tongue across the tautness of her nipples. Sucking and pulling. She nibbled, grazing her teeth over spots she found more sensitive than most—using the frequency of every whimper and whine to her advantage. All the while, she felt Tifa make use of her free hand as it began its descent.

Aerith put a stop it, pushing her hand away. The flower girl lowered, regretful in her descent as her own touch preferred to linger on the finest tits in Midgar. Though it hardly seemed a terrible loss, as Aerith’s tongue lavished the work of Tifa’s abdomen—the firm, taut series of muscles the fighter had worked hard to achieve and maintain. The lady in red was dripping wet, her arousal crying out for attention but Aerith didn’t allow herself a single second to entertain those needs. The brawler would soon pay for the attention she sorely desired, but the reverence with which her temple was given had been enough pleasure for Aerith—enough to bide her time, at any rate. 

Before long, Tifa felt nimble hands work themselves up under the draping of her skirt, clawing at the shorts underneath—pressing soft kisses to what available skin there was on offer. As the material was strewn away, Aerith’s hands dug into the firmness of her thighs.

“I love your body,” she whispered. “It deserves so much attention...” A shudder tore through Tifa upon every word, drawing a surprisingly husky giggle from the flower girl. “Good... good, there you go.”

She whisked a finger along the scorching heat of Tifa’s arousal, how slick she already was. “So wet for me,” Aerith teased. “...am I making you feel good, baby?” 

A squirm wiggled itself through Tifa’s nerves. She was well aware that it was an act; every delicious word the flower girl had to offer a carefully constructed tapestry of sweetness, fit to reap as much gil as possible. Yet... there was something else hidden behind the saucers that were her eyes. Something hotter, and just as needy. 

“Y-Yes...” Tifa breathed at last, her hands desperate for motion as they worked at her bosom. There was a heated tone to her voice now, bereft of shyness or patience. Aerith could see the look; she was hungry. “Give me everything.”

The flower girl dove between the fighter’s legs. And to the latter’s soft cry, the heat of her arousal was met with a wet, willing tongue. Curling, twisting, and lavishing at the petals of her slick embrace. Aerith kept Tifa in place with a tight grip, one hand glossing over her abs while the other kneaded the firm flesh of her thigh. With the flower girl’s insistence, she ensnared her client; poking and prodding at her pussy, finding the littlest details of what made the brawler tick in particular. Juices trailed, running past Aerith’s chin as she lost herself to the moment; eyes completely glazed over, locked with Tifa’s even if the latter shared the look at specific times. Brushing at the hood of the clients clit with her tongue, she soon sucked the nub past her lips, drawing another spillage of moans from the fighter. 

It didn’t take long for Tifa to reach her inevitable climax, having been as tense and teased as she was. When she did so, stifling the shrillness of her orgasmic sigh, Aerith greedily lapped up the results of her pleasure. A nectar so sweet, sorely overlooked. 

Whoever it was Tifa seemed to fancy, was missing out. The chump, the absolute buffoon. More for Aerith, at any rate. 

Though air filled Tifa’s lungs slowly, her chest faintly heaving, it did little to quell the shyness that soon returned. “That was... goodness, I- thank you, do I- do I give the g-“

Lightning fast, Aerith was to her feet and pressing against the client. Still hot and heavy. The pair traded a brief kiss, before the lady in red’s grip turned possessive once more. “Oh, we’re not done.” She grinned. “...unless... you wanna be?”

“No! No! I didn’t say th-“

Again, she was captured by yet another kiss. How flustered she was, it seemed unbecoming...

Luckily for her, Aerith fancied it.

And that was when she turned her around, with the fighter bracing against the wall—her gloved hands tracing the metal as it weaved in and around the surrounding concrete. Briefly, just briefly, she thought of Avalanche and how their continuous mission might work to-

Aerith bent her slightly, letting the brawler’s backside stick out. Naturally, Tifa met the move with a soft gasp; still vulnerable as she was left open, quivering. Her thoughts derailed as Aerith wrapped around her for a time, nibbling upon the lobe of her ear. “Good girl,” the flower girl teased. “Stay just like that.” 

She withheld a noise as Aerith knelt once more, the latters’ hands fit to explore the curves of her clients tender form.

Aerith’s fingers briefly pressed against the hood of her clit, sliding to and fro along the heat of her arousal. Again, her giggles worked like a knife in Tifa’s side, laying waste to every barrier the woman had previously built. Where once she was strong, now she had been made weak. Soft, malleable. Aerith, with the utmost care and laser-like precision, dismantled the fighter piece by delicious piece. Her thumbs digging into the supple cheeks of her backside. “I’m going to eat your ass too,” she offered sweetly. “Is that okay...?”

“Yes,” Tifa replied immediately, breathlessly. Her face lain against the walls cool embrace lest she burn up entirely. “Yes, please, I like it.”

Aerith wore a wry smirk, already in deep admiration for how well the girl took care of herself. The flower girl started with a few, tentative licks, teasing the brawler as she let slip another few squeaks and moans. Aerith’s fingers dug into the supple flesh of the fighter’s curvaceous rump as her tongue’s confidence grew—wiggling, worming inside, paying a sloppy sort of reverence to Tifa’s backside, devouring the cake like it deserved to be. 

Tifa chewed into her bottom lip, a healthy crimson flush across her cheeks still. “Oh, _fuck..._ ”

Aerith moved a hand lower, to reacquaint itself with Tifa’s needy core. She circled a thumb around the poor girl’s clit, as she dragged her tongue upward, across the sensitive bud. “Good” she said finally, drunk with a satisfied lust. “Because I like it too.”

“I.. I can tell-“

Back again she dove, intense in her assault upon Tifa’s sensitive spots. Where Aerith practiced a sense of care once, she soon cast aside as her motions grew quicker, a deliberate intensity as her fingers slipped inside Tifa’s core.

The brawler’s eyes could have crossed, and remained that way. 

Attentiveness from both ends left Tifa a mess of sobs and moans; a wriggling, writhing mass of a woman—taken down by the likes of a lowly flower vendor. How the mighty fell. How the needy cried out. In time Aerith brought another series of climaxes to the forefront, leaving Tifa to endlessly stir along the realm of that almost delicious sort of discomfort. Boiling hot, sensitive.

The fighter knew not the time, only that minutes had passed. Ten or so, she hazily wagered. When Aerith was done, she was meeting her client face to face, working her tongue to reacquaint with her own. They shared in another few kisses; softly and passionate, something Aerith could tell she was desperate for. 

A hot, breathless, yearnful set of words was all Tifa could manage, as she lazily pressed the bag of gil against Aerith’s side. “T-Thank you...”

Though the flower girl happily accepted the payment, there lay a seed for something more. Her own needs left untended, and the look which remained in her clients eyes, equally worked to stoke the fires of continuation. “I’ve got some more time,” Aerith offered, sweet as ever. “...gooot a place I could accompany you to?”

The thought terrified Tifa. A night of continued passion, exploring the depths of her longing and depravity—both sweet and sultry. For just a single night, she could feel loved the way she desired for years. If Cloud would not service her, perhaps the flower girl could.

If only for a night. One she wouldn’t soon forget.

“I... I don’t even know your name,” Tifa said.

Aerith pressed another kiss to her lips, taking the fighter by her pointed chin. “I’m whatever you want me to be. Just for tonight.”

Tifa grinned. She could work with that. The women enclosed hands, after the brawler redressed. Gil or no, the lady in red was... something else.

She was worth every piece.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow [@RichmanBachard](https://twitter.com/RichmanBachard) and [@RichmanSFW](https://twitter.com/RichmanSFW) to keep up with my stories, my commission info, and my insanity.


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